The Bracken Woods it don't matter if the cold wind blows

Inkeri's agitation rose as her sister tensed. She tilted her head, a breath through her nose, calming, calming. It would not do to have both irritated, agitated. Inkeri would never believe her sister a false prophet, that she was mad. No Anja was, Anja. Her sister soul. 

Inkeri could feel the sorrow so she leaned her head against her sister, laying her head under her chin. Small comfort, but comfort all the same.

You will not be lost, Anja. I will not lose you either. I will keep you safe. Safe.